“I can't hear myself think!” he yelled.
“What?” Prudence said back, loudly.
“I said,” he repeated, slowly. “I can't hear myself think!”
Prudence grinned and nodded. It was almost that bad. As they stood there, grimacing, the rise and fall of conversation like water in a brook around them, the noise reached a pitch and abruptly stopped.
Douglas had appeared at the top step of the staircase to the entrance hall. Beside him, resplendent in a yellow-gold gown, stood Marguerite.
“Friends! Guests,” Douglas greeted. “Welcome to our gathering! There is space in the hall for all of you. Come and join us and make merry, for we all have fine cause for celebration now.”
This was greeted by a roar, as thirty Scotsmen and as many women expressed their thanks for the hospitality, their admiration for the fighting men and their general humor in one go.
Prudence, grimacing, looked up at Alexander. He grinned.
Jerking his head back toward the hall, he reached down to take her hand.
Swallowing her nerves, Prudence let her long-fingered hand slide into his and felt his warm palm enfolding it. Then, acutely conscious of the touch between them, she headed to the door.
Inside the hall, the group quickly divided itself. The townsfolk – of whom there seemed, suddenly, to be inordinately more – headed off to the back, where trestles and benches were laid out around the perimeter. The twenty men who had fought – they had all returned, mostly unscathed save for some minor wounding, and two more serious injuries – a break and a gunshot wound – moved to the front.
Prudence, holding hands with Alexander, moved to one of the latter.
They found themselves seated a few seats away from Douglas and Marguerite, a fact that filled Prudence with fresh terror. She had never before sat at a banquet table with an earl and countess – not in such a formal setting, with all the townsfolk there before them.
She turned an appealing glance to Alexander, but he just grinned, and reached for one of the flagons that lined the table.
“I think this one's cordial,” he said, lifting it and squinting at the contents. “Would you like some?”
“Um...” Prudence felt her throat tighten. She looked down the table, terrified because she had only a vague idea of what was appropriate and what not. Then she nodded. “Um, yes, thanks.”
Grinning, he poured it, filling her glass. Prudence eyed it gingerly. Never having drunk out of a glass before – the servants had clay pitchers, and in her own cottage she had some ceramics, but no glassware – the thing looked impossibly breakable.
Alexander filled his own glass, but, Prudence noticed, didn't venture to drink. She paused, frowning, and wondered why.
At that moment, Douglas rose. “A toast! To the valiant fighters who are now returned.”
“The valiant fighters!” the cry went round the room. “The valiant fighters.”
All those around her lifted their glasses to their lips and drank. Prudence, uncertain and nervous, copied that. The cordial was intensely sweet, flavored with, she thought, cherry. She drank it down, noting that it warmed her throat and was truly pleasant.
Alexander, opposite, was grinning at her.
“What?” she frowned. He carried on grinning. “What?” she asked, starting to laugh.
“You have a spot on your nose,” he said, and, leaning forward, gently wiped at her nose with a napkin, showing her the red stain from her cherry drink.
“Oh,” she whispered and felt herself go pink. He laughed.
“Prudence, you are a pleasure.”
She flushed again, throat closed up. She felt flustered and happy and wonderful. Here she was, living a life she had never dreamed existed, and sitting opposite a man so handsome she sometimes thought she had concocted him in her wildest imaginings.
“You, too.”
This time, he blushed. “You're too kind.”
“Nonsense.”
The first course came around. It proved to be a soup of some kind, with carrots and other vegetables, and was richly flavored and very good. Prudence ate it with relish. She glanced sideways at the man next to her, and then at Douglas, trying to adjust her manners accordingly.
Delicately drinking the soup from the side of the spoon seemed to be the preferred method – though some of the cottagers who had fought, she noticed, simply spooned it up with the same relish she would have employed. She tried to adjust her way of eating to more closely resemble that of Douglas and Marguerite.
“A good soup, eh?”
“Very good,” she murmured.
“If I am correct, we'll need every ounce of room,” he added, smiling and indicating the stomach.
She raised a brow, grinning. “That sounds promising.”
He laughed.
As he had predicted, course followed course. It was hard to talk much, since the din of conversation rose to fever-pitch, ably aided by the ale in circulation. They had to resort to raising brows, making faces, pantomiming occasionally, usually grinning at each other.
By the time the cheeses appeared, Prudence was starting to feel a little ill. She smiled gratefully at the fellow who took away her plate, and even more gratefully at the one who brought her a cup of soothing tea.
At the top table, conversation had slowed to a gentle murmur. Down among the benches, though, it seemed people had only started warming up. Prudence glanced at Douglas, who grinned at her. She flushed pink.
“Friends!” Douglas said, standing again as the last of the dishes was cleared away. “I welcome you to my hall! And I wish you all a good evening. Let's begin the dances!”
Alexander smiled at Prudence, who felt her heart start to thump. Somewhere, a violin started up. To her surprise, he played a hearty reel.
The fellows at the benches, flushed and laughing, leaped to their feet. Someone whooped and a girl shrieked and giggled, and as one, as if by some strange unspoken plan, the townsfolk all started to join in the reel.
Prudence, flushed, felt her heart soar. This was the sort of dancing she knew! She could really join in! As she looked round, some of the soldiers stood and, together with the women who had accompanied them, headed to the floor. She caught Marguerite's eye, and saw her lift her shoulder, her gesture of approval.
Prudence swallowed, flushing. “Shall we..?”
“If you can instruct me,” Alexander said sincerely. He pushed back his chair. “Shall we dance?”
They danced.
The music wove and fell like flame, and Prudence felt as if it had come to dwell inside her. She danced that night as she had never danced before, hair flying, skirt floating, and body lithe. She felt Alexander's hand grip her waist and her heart lifted, and she felt like she flew.
They danced the reel together, and he was a surprisingly deft dance partner for someone who claimed never to have done a reel before. They danced another.
Prudence, exhausted, sat down heavily on one of the benches, fanning herself wearily. “Enough,” she protested, as Alexander held out a hand, grinning. He too looked flushed.
“Very well,” he conceded. “We'll have a rest. You dance beautifully.”
“I do?” she said, heart tensing. His eyes on her were so admiring she thought she might actually cry. She had never seen a look like that, or certainly never directed at her. Her whole body glowed, suddenly over-warm.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You do. I never saw anything like.”
“Oh? Really?” Prudence knew she sounded silly, but she couldn't help it. This evening was a treasure-house of new things.
“Yes,” he said, a grin tugging his lips. “Really. Now, would you like more cordial?”
“I...” she stammered. Nobody had ever actually offered to get something for her before. She nodded, decisively. “I would.”
While he wove through the throng toward one of the tables, she leaned back heavily, sweating from the exertion, and admired him.
With his back straight and tal
l, that red hair glowing like a beacon fire as he wove his way between the thronging guests, he moved with lithe glamour. She realized with a dreamy sigh that he was so handsome!
Prudence, you are the luckiest girl in history.
She smiled, her whole body tingling.
When he returned, he had a glass in each hand. He sat down beside her and she felt her whole body respond as his knee gently brushed hers. She cleared her throat.
“Do you think...?”
“When I said...”
They spoke together, and he grinned, looking away. “Sorry,” he said tenderly. “You first.”
“Thanks,” she said, shy. “I was just going to say, do you think we should dance another measure after this rest?”
“I don't see why not,” he said, smiling fondly.
“What...were you going to say?” she asked haltingly. His knee had brushed hers again and suddenly it was impossible to think.
“I was going to say, when I said we might dance a gavotte, I didn't think about how many people Douglas had invited.”
“No,” Prudence chuckled. “The hall has all sorts of people in it! And I don't think a gavotte's the sort they like.”
“No,” Alexander agreed, with a lopsided grin. “I suppose not.”
They both smiled. His hand settled over hers, on her lap. She stopped breathing.
“I need some air,” she whispered.
“Of course,” he said, and gently removed his hand. She stood and headed quickly to the margin of the hall.
Here, on the edge of the crowd, there was a bit of space. Most people had congregated on the dance floor, or around the tables, and here she could stand.
As the next measure started, another lively dance, she watched them gather and saw the dance begin. She was smiling to herself, watching the celebration, when she heard a low voice.
“Over here, there's more air.”
She turned to find Alexander looking down at her. She hadn't seen him leave the bench and come up. Her eyes held his.
“You're right,” she said.
He took her arm and led her a little back from the crowd, and through an arch. Here, in a sort of alcove, the light from the ballroom just reaching them, was utter peace.
“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were beautiful,” he said.
Prudence, caught off-balance, stared at him. “You did?”
He nodded. “I did. I thought I had never seen someone so beautiful. And now, when I see you...” He shook his head, words dried-up.
Prudence stared at him. Her heart felt like there were too many things inside it, that she was going to burst if much more happened. She glowed.
“I thought you were beautiful then, and when I see you now, I know it all the more strongly.”
Prudence swallowed hard. “When I first saw you...” she began, and then she grinned. Her own first impression had been quite different!
“What?” he asked. His eyes shone and he smiled, lopsided.
“When I first saw you, I thought you were stuck-up,” she said.
He roared with laughter. His grin was charming. She felt it light up every part of her and stared at him, wanting to see it again, to make him laugh more.
“You probably took fair stock of me,” he said, shaking his head, still laughing. “Oh, I can be an arrogant fool. You forgive me?”
“Just about,” she said, teasing.
He looked into her eyes, breathlessly.
She gasped. He was so handsome, and in that moment it felt as if their bodies craved one another, seeking each other like lodestone sought north.
She took a step forward and he met her. His hand took her wrist and he drew her close, looking into her eyes. Then his mouth came down on hers and she enfolded him in a tight embrace.
They clung together, kissing.
Prudence felt as if her whole world had ignited, burning a layer off her skin and leaving every sense more sensitive, more tuned, more eager for his touch, his taste, his scent. She pressed her body to him and knew that she wanted to carry on doing it, that there was part of her that ached for him in a way she wouldn't have imagined.
He leaned back, after what seemed like an age. “Prudence,” he murmured. “Oh.”
She groaned too, and then her arms were round him again and he enfolded her in an embrace and their lips met again. Licking and sucking and clinging, they kissed for what seemed like an age, but must have really been only a minute or two.
“You kiss beautifully,” she murmured.
Opposite her, Alexander blushed. Tenderly, he stroked a stray lock off her brow. “You're simply kind.”
“I am truthful,” she murmured, and wrapping her arms round him, held him tight. He grinned.
“I am a very lucky man.”
They kissed again and Prudence knew she had never been so happy.
HEADING WESTWARD
Prudence woke the next morning to sunshine falling onto her eyelids, gently bringing her to the present moment. She rolled over, stretching, a big smile on her face, and opened her eyes.
Memories flooded back to her mind and she lay back on her pillows, smiling as she relived the tender moments. The dancing – wild, abandoned reels and jigs that she hadn't danced since girlhood – the whoops and yells and the sound of the fiddle, and that talk in the alcove, and his kisses.
Hugging herself, she grinned and closed her eyes and felt, anew, the sweet thrill of it, thrumming through her body. She recalled the tender pressure of his lips, the way they moved over hers so gently, the probing tongue insistently exploring every part of her mouth.
“Oh, Alexander,” she whispered. “I do love you.”
He didn't seem to care too much that she had been a servant. She hadn't told him the whole story, but it seemed, for the moment at least, that it didn't matter too much to him. She recalled his words to her, when she'd broached the topic again at the dance.
“It doesn't matter what circumstances you were born into. A rose can grow in the forest or in a garden and it is still the noblest of flowers.”
She whispered it to herself, feeling the joy of that warm every part of her. She hadn't replied to it, simply kissed him, and he her. They had only left the alcove when the candles in the hall burned out, signaling the end of the evening.
Not that everyone had taken the darkness as an ending. She smiled, recalling the couples she had seen, entwined furtively in dark corners, and the few bold drinkers she had also seen, continuing with their reveling long after the only light came from the hearth-fire, burned down to coals.
“I ought to get up,” she murmured and smiled wryly to herself. This morning would be one of casualties. After most such events, she could expect her fair share of aching heads, sour bellies and one or two injuries picked up during fights.
She rinsed her face in the bowl of water on the nightstand, untied her hair from its plaits and reached for her clothes.
The dress she wore during the day was one of serviceable creamy linen, though it was nothing as luxurious as the magnificent creation she'd worn the night before. She smiled to herself, shrugging it on. Looking down at her figure under the stiffer folds, she recalled with joy how Alexander had run his hands over her back, fingers gripping her waist. She had never imagined a touch could feel so lovely.
She finished dressing, combed out her hair and styled it loosely, then headed down to breakfast.
The breakfast table was quiet. Douglas and Marguerite were both there, and a few house-guests, pale with dark rings under their eyes, unusually silent. Marguerite gave her a friendly smile. She had black bags below her eyes. “Morning, Prudence,” she said softly.
“Good morning,” she said politely. She settled into her seat and reached absently for a pitcher of milk. She was so thirsty!
As she ate porridge listlessly, she listened to the murmurs of conversation and daydreamed about the previous evening, and Alexander. She wondered where he was. Had he slept well? She imagined he was sleeping still.
As the distant bells tolled nine, he came into the room. She felt him enter, recognizing the sound of his footsteps before she turned and saw him there.
“Milady,” a low voice said, as he greeted Marguerite, who was just leaving. “I overslept. My compliments on an excellent dinner party.”
“Thank you, Alexander,” Marguerite said, sounding weary, but happy. “I'm glad you found it so. You will stay with us a while longer?”
“I thank you for the invitation, milady, but I do not know.”
“My dearest?” Douglas interrupted them. “I think we're needed in the parlor?”
“Oh, yes! The carpenter. Excuse me, Alexander.”
“Of course.”
With that, Marguerite's footsteps left briskly, and Prudence heard the lighter tread of Alexander cross the threshold into the room.
“Good morning,” he breathed.
She turned to look up at him, heart thumping.
“Good morning.” Her throat was tight and she had to cough to clear it. She flushed and looked up at him, her heart already throbbing and her nerves dancing with the pleasure of having him close.
“You slept well?” he asked. His eyes held hers and the question, from him, was strangely intimate.
She swallowed hard. “Yes,” she managed to say, though her throat felt tight. “And you?”
“Very well,” he said. He smiled. “I think the party continued long after we left.”
“Yes,” Prudence agreed, grinning warmly. “I will have a lot of work this morning.”
“I can imagine,” he agreed with a chuckle. “You can help people sick from the drink?”
“Mostly not too much,” she smiled. “I can give willow, for the headache, and mint to calm a roiling stomach. Thistle for pains in the liver. But aside from that?” She shrugged. “The poor fellows are best left to recover alone.”
“Poor fellows,” Alexander agreed, shaking his head. They shared a smile.
Suddenly, in the warmth of that gaze, it was hard to breathe. Prudence drew a shaky breath, feeling like she inhaled porridge, and just grinned into those tawny eyes.
Alexander grinned back. They both laughed, as if they shared a secret.
The Highlander’s Healer (Blood of Duncliffe Series) Page 17